Smile

Boris' affinity for every variety of psychedelia has been unending, so it's no surprise they finally went and named a record Smile. They do so after a run of releases that's included hard noise freakouts (Sun Baked Snow Cave, with Merzbow), drug-caked and deadpan Motörhead take-offs (Pink), tepid five-blunt solos [Altar, with SunnO)))], and psych-sessions with Ghost's Michio Kurihara (Rainbow). Most of these recordings came in at least two versions-- Japanese, American, vinyl, CD, smoke signal, etc.-- and, in the case of Dronevil Final, a one stereophonic, two-soundsystem-requiring CD set. If you claim to like everything Boris have done in their decade-plus run, let alone in the past three years, your tolerance for directionless, shapeless, and unending jam sessions is higher than mine.

My guess is the band probably doesn't lose much sleep over the quality or consistency of what they put out, but it was still dispiriting to hear Boris's Atsuo run down Pink in recent interviews. He now refers to the band's "cool rock" phase as boring, which is what I'd call the instrumental noise'n'drone suites the band drops on a maddeningly regular basis. No matter: the scuffed-up, scuzzed-out Pink will be their monument, whether they like it or not. Discovering what you're best at would be a thrill to most bands, but to Boris, it apparently felt like a burden, and so Smile is their exquisite-corpse sequel, a near-automatic exercise in drawing inspiration from anybody but themselves. For the Japanese version, the trio went so far as to leave the record behind with engineer and veteran of the Stars You Ishihara, who mixed and mastered it while the band was out of town.

Among those Smile nods toward: The U.S. version opens with a cover of a song by Kenji Sawada, of Pyg/Julie-renown; "Buzz-In" is named for the Melvins; another track, apparently, cops lyrics from Japanese band Anthem. A friend by the name of Aso wrote the excellently titled "You Were Holding An Umbrella", while Sunn0)))'s Stephen O'Malley plays on the record's final song. Kurihara guests throughout. The Japanese version could credibly have Ishihara's name on the cover, since his demented, scooped-out mixes bear little similarity to what Boris will call Smile in the U.S. There are, as expected, sublime moments on both, but it also seems as if these songs were simply the first eight that the prolific band wrote between one tour and the next.

A band named after a Melvins track wouldn't title a song "Buzz-In" lightly, and Boris' tribute begins with a squealing baby, who sings a little bit before the guitars ramp up. After that, the band charges in at its usual half-stoned, half-time boogie. That swagger-- playing from behind the beat-- is likely what's on Atsuo's mind when he talks about "cool rock," which "Buzz-In" most assuredly is; why anyone would avoid howling over guitars as finely distorted and oil-slicked as these is anyone's guess. "Laser Beam", a whisky-throated, spread-legs titan, dips so low in scuzz and feedback it could be a broken practice-session rehearsal, before a typically Boris pivot: The sound of a computer turning off or on, followed by the emphatically blank return of Takeshi's deadpan vocals. Veering into satire (welcome, for a band who appear to have no sense of humor beyond the name of their label/design firm, Fangs Anal Satan) is "Statement", on which the band breaks out both a cowbell and the "woo-woo" from "Sympathy for the Devil". "My Neighbor Satan" is one of those Boris warblers-- like Akuma no Uta's "Nothingness Song", say-- that sounds like it was written, mid voice-crack, by a 16-year-old boy. The untitled finale is an O'Malley collaboration, plus another shot at breaking out the wail, here mitigated by the droning weight of O'Malley's Stonehenge backline.

Those in the market for something truly unfathomable should seek out Smile's Japanese version. Beyond an entertainingly hollowed out "Statement", Ishihara leaves most of the other instrument sounds untreated-- all the better to scrape off your skin. This swarm-of-hornets sound suits a band that consistently hesitates just at it appears ready to turn loose. I also prefer Isihara's version of "No Ones Grieve", a The Thing Which Solomon Overlooked 2 outtake, which here dispenses with the ceremonial marching of the U.S. version for an undifferentiated, Comets on Fire feedback spray.

It takes a few listens just to sort out which song is which relative to the U.S. version. "My Neighbor Satan"-- subdued, crooning-- becomes, on the Japanese version, thick, layered: a Justin Broderick outtake, drenched in JAMC fuzz. The O'Malley duet, which ends both versions, is a noisier, more guitar-hero affair via Ishihara, whose instinct is to consistently pull out both extremes (melody, solo-y chaos) in the band's sound. It's a creative way of bluffing some unity from the record.

Boris are clearly proud to have made a record as schizophrenic as Smile, and I have no doubt their method helped them see all sorts of colors while making it. But the band may consider their fellow countrymen, Acid Mothers Temple, whose propensity to make ideally psychedelic but for all purposes identical records has, over time, sucked the surprise out of their ostensibly free-form vortex. It's no crime to make the same record twice when the alternative is making a different one, over and over and over again.